


sway, rise and fall

by ofscythia



Category: The Old Guard (Comics), The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Dancing, Drinking, Fluff, Gen, Pre-Canon, Smoking, pass me the aux? more like let me flip the phonograph record, the gang parties too hard and then nicky starts waltzing with everyone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:34:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26183518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofscythia/pseuds/ofscythia
Summary: Almost as if he's thinking the same thing, Nicoló snuffs out his cigarette with an artful flick of his wrist and stands. "All this music has me in the mood for a dance.""You dance?" Booker asks."Oh, Nicoló is an excellent dancer." Yusuf gushes, sliding into the chair the other man has vacated. "All that sword training makes him light on his feet.""That, and the fact that he likes being the center of attention." Andy adds, though she's smiling. "For a brief while in Spain he was infamous at court for his volta."
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 34
Kudos: 314





	sway, rise and fall

**Author's Note:**

> this all happened because of a throwaway comment Andy made in my Civil War fic, so here's dance-master Nicoló. Believe it or not, this was only supposed to be a couple hundred words....
> 
> If you're curious, I pictured Nicoló and Andy dancing to the Merry Widow Waltz, which you can listen to being played on a phonograph at this link:
> 
> https://playback.fm/charts/top-100-songs/video/1907/Victor-Orchestra-Merry-Widow-Waltz
> 
> new to fic writing - comments much appreciated!

**February** , **1907 - somewhere in France**

The wood table in their rented room is littered with empty absinthe bottles and the remains of sugar cubes, tall glasses once full of water turned over and dripping their last few drops onto the floor. Their new phonograph is playing in the background; a purchase Yusuf had brought back earlier that day, along with a small collection of records. It is playing softly in the background, a warble of music and static layered underneath the smoke from their cigarettes. The four of them are all well and truly drunk and have been for most of the night, an impromptu celebration over nothing in particular. 

Booker’s resting his head on his arm, elbow propped on their table. Nicoló sits across from him, smoking with his eyes closed. Yusuf and Andy are on the couch, having an animated discussion in some language that Booker can’t understand. Despite this, he’s listening with rapt focus all the same. They've been at it for ten minutes in what sounds like Greek, Nicoló muttering translations to Booker as they go.

After a rapid-fire exchange where each of them interrupt the other, Andy flings her hands into the air and Yusuf crows out a shout, laughing as she gets up from the couch to grab a cigarette from Nicoló. The burst of noise rouses Booker, who looks over at Nicoló for clarification.“I do not believe they are arguing anymore.” He says, blinking his eyes open and ashing his cigarette. “Andy is just calling Yusuf a bastard.”

"Well, he is.” Andy adds, leaning down with the cigarette pursed between her lips as Nicoló lights a match and ignites her cigarette. She takes a long-suffering drag and exhales with a sigh. “Even if he is right.”

Yusuf's curly hair and cheeky grin pop up from behind the back of the couch, delighted in his victory. "You should know better than to dispute my memory of Constantinople! The bathhouse you were thinking of was next to the Hippodrome, not the port! Right, Nicoló?"

"He is correct." Nicoló says sagely, exhaling smoke. He usually plays the referee in arguments like this, though he's not above joining the fray of he thinks one of the others has gotten a specific date or place wrong. "You really ought to have remembered that, given all the time and money you spent at the chariot races."

Andy huffs theatrically, cigarette dangling from her lips. "I was familiar with Constantinople before any of you were born." She says. "Forgive me for not clinging to ever memory I have of the place." 

Nicoló laughs at her tone. "Such a pity, that a woman of your many years and experiences should succumb to the ravages of age."

"Truly." Yusuf agrees, rising from the couch to join the huddle that's formed around the table. "I cannot imagine the horrors of being so old." He claps a hand on Booker's shoulder, tone sincere and teasing. " _Sebastien_ , my friend, treasure your youth while you have it." 

Booker huffs a laugh around his cigarette, the strangeness of his immortality lessened now that he's approaching his first century. Besides, the whole room is in good cheer; boosted by green spirit and the music issuing from the proud silver bell of their phonograph. 

Almost as if he's thinking the same thing, Nicoló snuffs out his cigarette with an artful flick of his wrist and stands. "All this music has me in the mood for a dance." 

"You dance?" Booker asks.

"Oh, Nicoló is an excellent dancer." Yusuf gushes, sliding into the chair the other man has vacated. "All that sword training makes him light on his feet."

"That, and the fact that he likes being the center of attention." Andy adds, though she's smiling. "For a brief while in Spain he was infamous at court for his volta." 

Booker turns to look back at Nicoló, who shrugs good-naturedly at the story. "The Renaissance was an entertaining time."

He shares a meaningful glance with Yusuf, who flashes him a devious smile. "Well, we do have music. Give us a show, Nico!"

"Can for a turn, Booker?" Nicoló asks, offering the other man his hand. Booker just blinks at him, too shy to move until Andy gives a hearty kick to the chair he's sitting in. "You heard him, Book." She says, leaning over the table to pluck his cigarette from his mouth and snuff it out. " _Alors, allons-y_."

Booker stands and Nicoló grins at him, bowing low to Booker with all the grace of a gentlemen. He returns the gesture, making Yusuf and Andy hoot with laughter.

“Curtsy!” Yusuf, slapping a hand down on the table “You must, Book!”

Flushed with absinthe and jolly from the laughter, Booker tucks one leg behind him and dips himself towards the floor. Andy and Yusuf roar their approval and Nicoló reaches down to pull him upright.

“Do you know the waltz, _mon ami_?” He asks, moving Booker’s hand from the leader position to his follower, Nicoló taking his right hand in his and holding it out to the side.

“Vaguely.” He says, shifting his hand in Nico’s grip. "I did it at my wedding.”

Nicoló nods at that. “We will go nice and easy, then.” Nico says, squeezing his waist and then starting them off. Booker stumbles, drunken mind trying to reverse the steps he learned as he follows Nicoló's lead. The other man’s steps are smooth and graceful, guiding Booker with firm pressure on his waist and hand. Booker can’t help but grin as Nicoló works them around the room, offering tips and compliments at they shuffle. 

He can barely hear the music over Yusuf and Andy's cheering, but Nicoló keeps them in time with the beat. They finish the dance with a spin, Booker letting go of Nicoló's hand and bumping into the table, rattling the empty bottles.

“You dance splendidly, _Sebastien_.” Nicoló praises, clapping him on the shoulder as Yusuf and Andy applause. Booker grins at the attention, staggering over to the couch and flopping onto it. Dizzy and giddy, he props his booted feet agains the arm and flings the other over his head.

"Oh, you wore him out, Nico." Andy says, snuffing out her cigarette. "Shall we show him how it's done?"

Nicoló grins at that, offering her his hand with a flourish. She rises and lets Nicoló pull her into position with a graceful twirl. “Something fast, _il mio amore_.” Nicoló calls over to Yusuf, whose risen from his seat to switch out the record. “Andy prefers the Viennese.”

Yusuf obliges, walking over to the phonograph and switching out the music. The new record crackles for a moment and then the two of them are off, turning in fast and graceful circles around the room as the music swells around them. This is faster than the simple box step Booker knows, the two romping around the room together in graceful spins.

Booker watches, grinning at the spectacle as he claps along to the beat of their steps. They’re the picture of grace, Nicoló posture easy and fluid as he spins Andy, her head and neck arched gracefully back as they wheel around the room. Yusuf whoops in delight when Nicoló tucks one hand to the small of his back and guides Andy through a dizzying sequence of one-handed turns. 

They finish the dance with a flair, Nicoló dipping Andy so low her head nearly touches the floor. They hold the pose and both break out into laughter. Booker claps enthusiastically, Yusuf letting out a whistle. Nicoló pulls her upright, brushing a kiss along her knuckles before he lets go of her hand. Andy swats at him playfully, cheeks glowing from the dance. She staggers back over to the table, picking up Nicoló's cigarettes and matches. She makes her way over to the couch, pushing Booker's feet off the cushion and plopping down beside him. 

She pulls a fresh cigarette from Nicoló's case and strikes a match, glancing over at Booker with a wordless offer. He shakes her head, wanting to lie on his back and listen to the music. Andy blows out the match and leans back into the couch with a grateful sigh. The feel of the room has shifted, raucous excitement mellowing out into the gentle feel of the early-morning hours. Everything feels like it's gone soft, spirit and nicotine catching up with all of them now that they've begun to settle.

Booker drifts off into a light sleep on the couch, Andy meditatively smoking her cigarette beside him. A bit winded from his jaunt with Andy, Nicoló leans against the wall and catches Yusuf's eye, who stares at him with overwhelming fondness. The sincerity of his gaze makes color rise in Nicoló's cheeks, even after centuries. It's different than the amusement and pride he had watching Nicoló dance, this is something more familiar, more intimate. After all, Yusuf has been his preferred dance partner for centuries. No one else knows the way he moves like he does. 

"Is it my turn for a dance, _habibi_?" He asks, walking over to Nicolo's side and pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

"Of course." He says, turning to the phonograph. He switches out the lively operetta he played for Andy to a softer, more gentle melody. He turns around to face Yusuf, pressing himself against his chest and sliding his arms around his waist. Yusuf hums and returns the embrace, sliding his hands up under Nicoló's arms to rest on his upper back.

The music starts and they sway together, rocking back and forth is a slow two-step. It's a slow and sleepy rhythm, which allows Nicoló rest his head against Yusuf's shoulder. In his long life, Nicoló has found that he prefers this over anything else; pressed flush to Yusuf, nose full of his scent and floating on the other man's love for him.

The record eventually stops, but neither of them are in a hurry to break apart and find a new song. Instead, they press even closer and continue to dance, guided along by the gentle rhythm of Booker's sleeping breaths and Andy's smoke-heavy exhales. 


End file.
